An Afterthought
by Dreamwritten
Summary: With the murder of her grandfather still fresh in her mind, the 76th games are announced. Will Celestia Snow find the strength she needs to survive the final games? (I have an explanation for my absence on my profile)
1. Teaser

At this moment, there are few things I truly understand.

For instance, how those scum rebels were able to take control is lost on me. Their leaders were corrupted, though I suppose no more than our own. My mother and father say it's all that Katniss's fault. Our city had given her everything and she went mad with power.

That's what they say.

What do I think?

I don't know what to think anymore.

One of the things I knew for sure, however, was the 76th games. "President" Paylor announced it last night in some conference. It was aired everywhere, mandatory to watch.

"There will be no more mandatory watching after this..." She paused. After this. "...this last hunger games."

Gasps were heard from the crowd, people started shouting.

She held hand steadily in air. Silence.

"The 76th hunger games will be the last of it's kind. The tributes will be drawn from a pool of Capitol children ages 12-18. All we want is for the people of the city to understand our pain, and why we did what we did."

The training period would be 2 weeks longer in order to give the tributes a better chance. Sponsoring was allowed, but not expected. And that was it.

Another thing I knew for sure, was that I would be in these final games.


	2. Chapter 1 - Don't be Late

Reaping Day used to be my favorite day. It was my birthday afterall.

But the real excitement came from seeing the new batch of tributes. Grandpa and I would talk about who we thought would win.

I remember two years ago. When that girl about my age got called. Grandpa said she even looked a little like me. I didn't think so.

But then, the older girl ran up screaming. She was impossible to understand until she composed herself a little more.

A volunteer. Grandpa and I looked at each other with raised brows. In 74 years, 12 had never had a volunteer.

I wish it had stayed that way. The girl would have died, probably in the initial slaughter.

Everything would fine. We would be preparing for the _actual _76th games.

And Grandpa...

"Celestia." My mother's voice startles me. She's standing in the doorway of our tiny apartment. "You need to get dressed, honey. It's almost time to go."

Her eyes are red but her features composed. I don't think I have ever seen her like this before.

But we both knew it. The real reason they did this final games was to get back at us. To torture the entire Snow family for Grandpa's "crimes".

I stood, hesitantly from the worn couch. The room was condensed, less than half the of size of my old bedroom. The couch sat in the back corner in front of an outdated television. To the left there were two doorways. One to a single bedroom/bath, and one to the street. My mother had come from the bedroom. I went to her.

There was a queen bed in the corner next to a little dresser. In those drawers were the few things they had allowed us to take. Some of father's clothes, some of mine, and some of mother's. That was it. The family albums were burnt, vases smashed, basically everything they could destroy, they did.

I found my nicest dress I had. It was pink and silky, like Grandpa's roses. Oh the roses, how I miss them. There was a bow in the back and a lace collar around the neck. It wasn't my favorite, but my favorite had been ripped to shreds before my own eyes.

I looked to my mother who hadn't moved from the door. Her eyes were trained on the cloth draped over my arm. I could tell immediately that looking at me directly might break her.

"Mom..." I don't know what to say. So I don't.

I change into the dress and she brushes my hair until it's time to go.

I haven't seen my father in weeks. Ever since they announced the games. Mother hasn't said anything about it. I think she's used to it, the way he used to be gone a lot before. But that was when he was an official. Now, he's nothing. Less than nothing, really. He's an enemy to this new government.

Maybe he went into hiding, after realizing they had begun to target our family. My loving father, leaving his wife and child to die while he hides. It's not too far out there.

I don't know. I don't care.

The streets are still littered with rubble from the fighting that took place in this outer ring of my great city. Other parents and children began to file out of their new homes as well. Soon the streets were filled with somber faces. Shuffling feet and sniffles were the only sounds that dared to be made.

The train station was where they chose to hold it. It was big, and it was built to hold big crowds. The old fashioned columns and dimmed lighting set an eerie mood over the already solemn gathering. The setup looked similar to those used in the district reapings. Roped off sections in front of a makeshift stage with armed rebels filing people by age. My mother froze, seeing those guns.

She never liked violence. Had never watched the games. Before, she could only get away with it because she was the president's daughter. But now, she would have to watch. She would have to watch her daughter die in the arena.

No, your not dead yet. You stand an equal chance with any of these people.

"Mom." She still won't look at me. "Mom, I have to go now."

"I hope..." She starts but stops sensing a rush of emotion. She swallows before starting again. "I hope we're wrong about this."

We're not. But I don't say that. I just hug her, and she kisses the top of my head.

I don't think anyone recognizes me, at least the rebels. No glares or spit on my feet. A slight doubt crept into my mind that they even knew I existed. Maybe they don't care about Grandpa's family as much as we'd thought.

I was filled into a group closer to the back. The 14s. I saw Luna, one of my closest friends from school. Her eyes glowed with relief when they met mine. We both had to push through in order to get closer.

"I figured you were dead." She sighs, hugging me.

"Not yet." I whispered a little more dismal than I meant to.

She stepped back to look at me. "You don't mean..."

"Why do you think they're really doing this, Luna? Because they want us to understand their pain? No. They want to take another stab at my family and get away with it." I'm careful to keep my voice down.

Luna's previous lighted eyes dimmed. "So, this is probably the last time I'll see you."

"You'll see me on TV." I quipped with a smirk.

"This is not the time for jokes, Celi." Her eyes narrowed.

"Sorry."

Her face turned frantic. "Oh gosh, don't die thinking I'm mad at you!" She shouted rather loudly. A few people looked over at us, including one of the rebels.

"Shh. I know you're not mad at me." I glanced around again to see the attention had only been momentary. " Look I don't even know for sure, so lets just wait and see, okay?"

She nodded.

We stood in silence until the microphone sung out in a high pitched squeal.

"Good morning to you all." It was a woman. She was clearly a rebel. Her dark hair was drab and straight. She took no care in wardrobe other than bothering to put it on. The final insult to the people of the capitol, having district trash pick the ones who will die.

"I think you all know how this goes. We'll _select_ 12 girls and 12 boys. Something we did not mention before, is the ration situation."

There were murmurs of confusion in the adults section.

"Any families that have requested multiple rations this past month will receive three entries for each child in that household."

There was a choir of outrage and several children's faces around me paled.

But the woman simply continued, the volume was raised so she could be heard over the people. "You may think that this is unfair. To feed your family, you had to put them at risk. There was a similar procedure in the districts as i'm sure you're not aware. The only difference is one child could have their name in as much as 54 times in the districts."

Most people quieted down, but not all.

"As Ms. Paylor mentioned before, we're doing this so you understand. Our pain, our hunger, our humility."

Just then there was a loud racket behind the stage. Shouts and crying echoed through the large station. The woman remained unchanged. "Also, something you may or may not know already. Attendance to the reaping is in fact mandatory."

Behind her, two rebels held a struggling boy between them. They shoved him up the steps and threw him to his knees. His hands were bound and his head hung and shook with heaving breaths.

The woman carefully knelt in front of him. She cleared her throat. "Are you, Jayson Madaya?"

She put the microphone to his mouth. He said nothing.

One of the rebels kicked him in the back. "Yes." He blurted.

"And are you, or are you not 18 years of age at this moment?"

Again he said nothing. The rebel grabbed him by the hair pulling his head up.

"Yes." His low bangs were matted to his face with tears. "But my birthday is next week, I just thought..."

She pulled the microphone back, cutting him off. "No." she shook her head with false sadness. "You didn't think." The woman stood and went back to the center of the stage.

They boy was dragged away screaming.

He disappeared from sight, but she still stood silently.

A gunshot. My blood ran cold. No one dared to protest this time.

I can't imagine it was _this_ bad in the districts.

The woman smiled coldly. "Let's begin, shall we?"

A bowl was brought on stage and placed on a pedestal to her right. "May the odds be ever in your favor." She smirked. "Ladies first."

Now if I was right, I would be somewhere in the middle, to look unsuspicious. Maybe even the last one.

She stuck her hand in the bowl. She did not dig. She grabbed one on top that stuck out a bit.

Or, if they really had the guts...

"Celestia Snow." Her voice purred over the speakers.

Gasps.

See the people of the Capitol have always lived in safety. They don't understand how cruel the rebels will be to make a point.

Luna grabs my hand, but I can't bring myself to look at her. A path clears for me as I move to the aisle. People in the crowd called to me, but I couldn't hear their words if I wanted to. The only sound I really heard was my hard soled shoes echoing on the tile floors.

Up the stairs. Don't trip. Please, _please_ don't trip.

The woman smiles her cool smile. "Here we are. Now if I'm not mistaken, this is the daughter of former President Snow."

I nod. As if she didn't know she would draw my name. I wonder if they already picked out who they want, and just put all those names on top.

I really hope they didn't pick Luna just to watch us turn on each other.

But no, the second time she dug around and actually made it somewhat fair.

So it was just me.

After all the names are drawn I take a final look at who I will be competing with. I know them all by name. Acquaintances, friends even.

I see Luna, still standing with our friends. Everyone still in the ropes looks relieved, pleased even, that they aren't the ones standing up here.

"These are your tributes, Capitol. For the next month they will be pompously pampered and primed for your entertainment. And of course, for ours. Last goodbyes will take place for the next hour. Visitors will be searched of weapons and food and shall be severely punished should any of either be found. Good day."

She strode off stage like some kind of queen.


	3. Chapter 2 - For Now

_Tick. Tick. Tick._

A strange sound. Clocks. Never was a huge fan.

Grandpa used to have this really pretty one though. It was tall, like him. It stood proudly in the lounge. It never made the annoying ticks.

I'm starting to think they only put me in here to see if I would crack. It's about as big as the apartment. With that dreadful clock reminding me I only have about ten minutes left before we'll be brought to the training center. They're reusing one of the old ones, the 58th, I think I heard one of them say. It's probably all musty and dirty by now.

Either way, I've had so many visitors. None of the ones I wanted.

Luna came and cried for a bit. Didn't say much. Some civilians came to rant about how unjustly I was being treated, as if I didn't already know.

My mom hasn't come. I don't think she will, it's probably too hard for her to say goodbye.

But I want her to.

The door opens.

My father enters.

"Hi dad." I don't bother getting up.

"Hey, Celi." He sits down by me on the plush velvet couch. He sighs. "I'm sorry I haven't been around lately. Work has been crazy ever since all the revolution crap started."

I look at him. Is he serious? I cover my face with my hands. "Get out. Just get out."

"Celest..."

"I said get out!" I stand. If I'm gonna die soon, I'd rather not spend anymore time in his presence than necessary.

He reluctantly leaves.

Great. There goes two minutes.

Mommy. _Please_.

_Tick. Tick. Tick._

Five minutes left.

I can't take it anymore. I yank open the door to leave. She's standing there, all prim and proper. Her eyes are red but features composed.

"Mommy." It comes out as a whine. I don't care. I hug her and she hugs back. For the first time in a month I left myself cry, if only for a minute or so.

Because I only get a minute or so.

"Time's up, Snow." One of the rebels scoffs.

I don't wanna let go. _Please_ don't make me let go.

She comes over and pulls me back by my shoulders.

"Mommy!" I scream like a child. I feel myself falling apart.

"I love you, baby, I love you so much!" She calls back, another rebel takes her arm and leads her out.

I'm left breathless, formless. I'm melting into the hard wood floors. My legs give out on me and cause the rebel to cuss to herself about Capitol kids.

I'm going to die. I'm actually going to _die_.

"Get up, we got a schedule."

They dragged me outside to one of the waiting tribute cars. The long black vehicles were easily identified, even more so now that they would be the only ones on the road.

But the people in the streets no longer cheer as we pass by. They just watch.

My car-mate and I'm assuming room-mate for the next month is Micky Gouda. We had a few classes together, and I remember everyone called him Micky. Though, I don't think it's his real name. Neither of us says anything, and there's not much to say.

We enter the inner ring, the elite homes that have been taken over by high ranking rebels. They stand in the streets in their homely attire, hollering and cheering. I'm instanly humiliated and have to turn my attention to my feet before I start crying again.

My god, is this what it felt like for the other tributes? No, the people of the Capitol... We... Were better. Nicer. Dress nicer. We never humiliated the tributes... right?

"Can you speed up?" Micky asks next to me.

"No can do, kid." The driver responds. "I'm under strict order to keep this speed, no more, no less."

Both of us kind of slump down to hide our faces.

When we get to the training center, there's no crowd waiting, no warm welcome. Just a couple of guards that lead us inside and tell us we're on the fourth floor.

Tomorrow we would be polished and presented to whatever was left of Panem.

I wonder, will the people of the districts cheer? Or will they remember that they themselves were in similar shoes but a year ago.

I'm not sure.

A surprisingly clean glass elevator awaited us. Two others had arrived and slid in before the doors closed.

I knew both of them. Penny Crane and Olyver Hart.

Penny was a bigger girl, but short. Her bobbed hair still clung to a tint of blue with her red roots beginning to overpower her scalp.

Olyver is maybe a little taller than me, plain brown hair. Never much of a talker.

4th floor.

Micky and I step off.

Sitting on a couch by the entrance is a man much too suave to be a rebel. Dark satin suit with straightened and slicked green locks.

He stands slowly as we approach.

"Nathan and Celestia, I presume."

Nathan. Never would have guessed that.

"Yes." I forced.

"Good. As you may have guessed, I will be your mentor throughout this... ordeal."

"You're a victor?" Micky raised his brow in disbelief.

"No. Unfortunately, there weren't many victors willing to mentor Capitol children. All the mentors this year are former gamemakers."

"I don't recognize you." I thought I knew all the gamemakers.

"Yes well, my time was before yours. I left the Capitol after three years as an assistant to the head."

Oh.

"Regardless, I should warn you right now. These games will be very different from the ones you're used to. All the ceremonies are just a formality. There are no sponsors."

"But the woman said..."

"Yes, she told you sponsoring is allowed, and it is. However, the select few that still have the money to be power players in these game refuse to have anything to do with them."

"So how do we even stand a chance? Without sponsors, we'll be completely on our own." Micky huffed.

"That's why they've extended the training period by two weeks. It's twice what the district tributes got."

"Two extra weeks isn't going to help me when I'm starving to death." I mumble.

"No, it's not. So use the two weeks to figure out how to avoid that situation. Now if you're done, we have business."

He turned on his heels and walked off.

I look to Micky. He avoids my gaze and follows the man.

Strange.

The room has a wide open area with three salmon couches arranged around a large television. Behind that, by ceiling-to-floor windows is a small dining area. It overlooks a small plaza that was relatively untouched by the rebel invasion.

You can tell by the furnishings that it was used almost 20 years ago. That shade of pink went out long before I was even born.

A narrow hall past the lounge area lead to several doors, all of which I'm sure are rooms. However, I had yet to see any stylists or even avoxes. I doubt all these rooms will be of use.

The man opens the first door in the hall. "This is where I'll be if you need anything. Though I should mention, I am not much of a morning person." He closes it and goes to the room across the way. "This will your room Mr. Gouda. Jackson Dreyes stayed here before the 58th."

"Didn't he die at the feast?"

"Yes."

Micky sighs and goes to explore his new quarters, closing the door behind him.

"Celestia, you have your pick. Only two other rooms will be needed for the stylists."

So there are stylists. "Where are they?"

He checks a watch positioned on the inside of his wrist. "Late. I'm sure they're probably just throwing a fit again." He shakes his head and looks back up.

It's strange how a man who seems so much like us, could have such a disregard to our grievances. "Why did you leave the Capitol?" I blurt.

He doesn't flinch. "I left because I could." Is all he says before disappearing into his own room.

I go to the room farthest down the hall.


	4. Chapter 3 - The Other 22

The bed was soft, like my old one. In fact, most of the furniture reminded me of my old room in grandpa's home. Was I really that out of date?

Whatever. I can't sleep.

How does _anyone_ sleep in this place?

Walk. I'll just go for a walk. No big deal.

I wrap a thin blanket around my shoulders and cautiously ease the door open. The lights are off and I hear snoring echoing softly. I shift the weight of my feet ever so carefully as to not hit some creaky spot I may not have noticed before.

Will the elevator even work? Maybe they shut it down at night so we can't make a run for it. I hope they're just guarding the entrance or something.

I press the button and wait. It takes a while but eventually there is a light ding.

I freeze when the doors open. Olyver looks about as surprised as I am. He's wearing a T-shirt and loose pajama pants. His hair slightly disheveled. For some reason, at that moment, I'm forced remember the crush I had on him in third grade.

"Um..." I search for words but my brain just made a run for it. "So-sorry" I stutter.

"It's okay." He regains himself much faster than I do. "Where you headed?"

"I um..." God, I probably look like some illiterate buffoon right now.

"Don't know?"

I'm not sure weather to nod or shake my head so I just bite my lip.

"Well, I was on my way to the training center if you want to tag along."

I think that's the most I've ever heard him say. To me, at least.

"Alright." I awkwardly scuttle into the elevator with him, tightening my grip on the blanket. The doors slide closed and I see the button labeled _TC1_ is glowing.

"Are we even allowed to go down there?" My voice is quiet all of the sudden, I don't know why.

He shrugs. "I guess we'll see."

The floors flash by as we practically free fall underground. I watch them tick by on the little screen. _B2_. _B3_. _B4_. Suddenly we jerk to a stop.

"The training center has been locked down for the night. Please return to your floor." A sharp female voice alerts us. The doors glide open anyway. Light from the elevator flows out to reveal a dark hallway.

I look at Olyver. He glances at me with a devious smile, and steps out.

"What are you doing? It said we shouldn't be here." I hiss under my breath, hoping no one is actually on this floor other than us.

He chuckled. "The way I see it, were already here. We owe it to ourselves to explore."

This is not at all the Olyver I know. Though, I guess I never did know him all that well.

"But what if we get caught?"

"Oh come on, what are they gonna do?" He waits, just a few paces away.

He's right. I'm already dead.

Breathe. I exit the elevator and it seems like the doors close the second I do, locking us down here and extinguishing the light.

Well, I could just press the button again.

Too late. He's already walking away. I jog a bit to catch up.

It's just a long, open hall. No doors, but it looks like there is a T intersection at the end. I can barely see anything. We are given a choice. Left, or right.

"You pick." his voice has dropped to a whisper.

What was it that people always say? When in doubt, go right.

Or was it left?

Who cares.

"Right."

Just around the turn, a patch of light leaking onto the floor is visible.

"Aren't we underground?" He asks more to himself than me.

"Yes, all the training centers were built below ground." I whisper back anyways.

Before we know it, both of us are half jogging to that little bit of light. As we got closer it became clear it was originating from a window to the right.

After what felt like an eternity, we reached the window. It was long, maybe ten feet by four. It gave a perfect view of the _actual _training center one floor below us. There was a rock wall across the way, weight lifting sets in the center, as well as what appeared to be a wrestling/sword fighting ring, some survival skills stations set up along the edge, and on the other side was target practice. A rock wall. How strange. She'd never heard of a training center having one, or even anyone having to use those kind of skills. And if they were getting thrown into the 58th arena, it was just a desert.

They're just trying to confuse us. Keep your head in the game.

"It's um... bigger than I thought." there's a tremor in his voice all of the sudden. I turn to see all the color has faded from his face. There's something else too.

He's scared. Scared shitless.

I had been so focused on the injustice to family I had forgotten everyone else that had been dragged into this mess. They we're all just as scared as I was to be condemned to this death. 22 others would die just to get back at my dead grandfather.

"Olyver..." I want to apologize, but I don't know how.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

"Hey! You! What the hell are doing?" A voice booms from down the hall.

My blood runs cold.

Olyver grabs my arm and drags me into a run.

But we don't get far, the hallways is a dead end.

A beam of light blinds me momentarily. There's a sigh and it's lowered to our feet. I have to blink several times to clear the spots of color from my vision but eventually, I see him.

Plutarch.

I'd met him only twice before. The final day of the 74th's victory tour, and the first day of the 75th.

"Celestia. A pleasure to see you again. However, I must ask, how in world did you get down here?"

To be so close to a traitor. If only I had something to cram into those demon eyes of his. Anything would have worked.

"Elevator." Olyver answers.

Plutarch looks at him for a moment. Only a moment. And I swear there was a flicker of sadness in his eyes.

But it quickly vanishes. "Well, I suppose this building has a few bugs after being out of the games so long. But I must have you escorted back to your floors for the night. As you may have realized, your not exactly supposed to be down here."

No shit.

Three guards tail him, and we're "escorted" back to the elevators. The five of us cram in there with Heavensbee staying behind.

"I was sorry to hear your name at the reaping, my dear. But just remember that causing trouble won't get you anywhere now."

The doors slid shut.

And I'm left dumbfounded.

Those words just play over and over in my mind until the elevator's light ding at my floor. I'm practically shoved forward by one of the guards. I turn and at the last second before the doors close, my eyes meet Olyver's. And then it's gone.

For a minute, it's silent, and I feel as if I might be the only person in the world.

Then I hear snoring echoing softly.


	5. Chapter 4 - Formalities

I watch Micky push scraps around his plate. I look back down to mine. Not a morsel has been touched. I'm not hungry.

Something hadn't sat well with me last night. Plutarch's words still played in the back of my mind.

_Causing trouble won't get you anywhere now._

Did he know? No, how could he?

It's mind games, Celestia. Even if he did know, there's nothing he can use it for. Blackmailing someone on death row doesn't much sense.

Breathe.

"I see you two are up early."

Our mentor waltzes in from the hall. He wears a lavish deep violet robe, and slippers to match. It made me want to throw up all of the sudden.

He glanced at the dishes.

"Still not hungry, huh?"

Neither of us said a word.

"And apparently still not talking." He pulled a chair out next to Micky and began to serve himself.

Dinner had been like this too. Eero, our "mentor" talked the whole time. There were no avoxes, or servants of any kind. Paylor was serious when she said no more slaves. Not that avoxes were slaves exactly, but I guess they were close enough.

"The ceremony is today. That means you're going to need to talk."

He's looking at Micky.

"I'll talk if I want to." He mumbles back, not taking his eyes of his plate.

"That's not exactly the best attitude to have."

"Well if there aren't sponsors, what's the goddamn point?" Micky snapped, "They might as well just drop 23 of us in a volcano and pretend like someone actually won these ridiculous games!"

"Micky..." I try, but he ignores me.

"What is the point of this, exactly? So we feel their pain? Aren't the rebels supposed to be better than us, isn't that why they overthrew us? So why are they doing the exact same thing that caused this mess? It doesn't make sense! They just want us to suffer, and you know it!"

Eero calmly takes a bite out of a biscuit he pulled from a bowl. "Why was it the Capitol started the Hunger Games? You've learned that in school, I'm sure."

"The Hunger Games' intent was to put the rebels in their place." I answered quietly, still watching the enraged boy in fear that he may attack our mentor at any moment.

"To show the rebels that the Capitol is in charge." He stopped to make sure Micky was listening. "So, these games, in theory, would show the Capitol that the rebels are in charge now." He took another bite.

"You know, not everyone in the Capitol agreed with the games..." I looked back to my food, not knowing where I was going with that.

A slow smile creeps onto his face as he turns his gaze to me. "And you're telling me, Celestia, that you, of all people, didn't agree with the games?"

I talk slowly. "No... I mean, I just... to be honest, I don't know. I never thought of it as an actual punishment. They were just _games_ to me. So I guess in that sense, I did agree with them." I paused for a second, daring to look up. Micky is still enraged, but seems to be calming. "But, I suppose if I _had_ thought of them as punishment, it wouldn't really seem fair to punish the districts for so long."

Eero took the last bite of his biscuit and said nothing.

"Though, It makes about as much sense as punishing a dictator's granddaughter for his misdeeds." I add quickly.

Micky slowly got up and went back to his room without another word..

I started to cut my pancakes with the side of my fork.

Even Eero was silent.

Afterwards, I went back to my room to get dressed and I noticed a wrapped package on my bed. I hadn't seen anyone come or go.

Strange.

"Come, Celestia, were off to the stylists."

I leave it there.

We left the building around eight. To my surprise, the streets were alive. No one was ever awake this early. Apparently these rebels are against human nature as well. There were street vendors, people in shops, and kids running and screaming with their high pitched laughter. And for some reason, this all starting to feel, dare I say it, normal. As if, it had always been this way.

We drove in the same cars to a separate facility where the parade would take place. Micky still won't talk to me, no matter what I say. A lost cause, not that I really care. I don't think he ever liked me anyways.

We arrive in minutes and it's more elevators and hallways until finally I'm quite literally shoved in a room, and hear the door locked behind me. It's lit enough to see the single shade of dark brown that covers the walls. To my left there is a large curtain hiding what must be a vast majority of the room. What I can see is a small desk not far from where I stand, and an armoire in the back corner. Behind the desk is a woman with plain brown hair, and little to no makeup. Her garb is a simple grey jumpsuit, fitting her shapely form fairly snug. She looks in her early thirties, or she's had a lot of work done. Though, I don't think the districts have plastic surgeons.

"Greetings, Celestia. Welcome to my laboratory." She smirks somewhat evilly at me.

"I'm sorry?"

"Come dear, sit, please. You must be exhausted." She rises quickly and moves around the desk place a firm hand on my back.

"Not really." I mumble. But if she hears it, she ignores me. She seats me rather forcefully in a plush chair opposite the darkwood workspace. However, she does not sit.

"Would you like a macaroon?" She gestures to the neatly stacked pile of the cookies sitting in front of me.

"No, thank you."

"Well, then. I'll be blunt with ya, hun. Everyone in the districts hates your guts." She says a gleaming smile. I swear, I've never seen anyone happier in my life. "My job is to change that." She continues, stepping closer to stroke my face awkwardly.

"Why?" I blurt, pretending not to notice her cold hand on my cheek.

"I'm not at liberty to say... but I will say that we have such _special_ plans for you." She pulls back her hand to cover her mouth and giggles. "Oh, look at me, I've said too much. Let's get to work."

My stylist is an asylum patient. Another lovely joke from the rebels.

"And I haven't even introduced myself!" I jump a little at her sudden exclamation. "The name's Jane." She extends her hand to me and I take it cautiously.

She pulled herself on to the desk to sit cross legged, and look down at me from her higher perspective. "Now tell me, what the least evil thing you do in your free time?" She props her head in her hands with her elbows resting on her knees.

I take a moment to let all of this sink in. "I read."

Jane makes a pouty face. "Well that's no fun. I need something exciting, something bold, something..." Her arms wave wildly as she looks for another word. Suddenly she looks at me with devious eyes. "Scandalous?"

Before I can answer, she holds a finger to my face. "I take that back, I don't want scandalous, that is the exact opposite of what I want." She jabs at her cheek as she thinks.

"I paint."

Jane's eyes widen and her jaw drops a little. "What do you paint darling, do tell?"

"Mostly my Grandpa's roses"

"I see..." She murmurs, continuing to tap her cheek. "Well, if there's nothing else, I can work with that."

There's a pause as if she's waiting for me to reveal something. But there _is_ nothing else. I didn't exactly have the patience for hobbies.

"Right. So, the parade is in a few hours, I'm sure you're excited. There was no real theme to go with." She hops down and grabs a hanger holding a garment bag from the armoire.

Through the clear plastic I can see a plain maroon dress with a black tie in back. I've never worn something so... "rebel" in my life.

"You want me to wear _that_?" It comes off a little more rude than I had intended, but I don't apologize.

"Sorry dear, couldn't find anything in brown." She pouts for a moment before her slightly psychotic smile forces it's way back.

_Brown?_

I can see now what this is. They're destroying my image. Those bastards.

"Now come, we must get dressed!"


End file.
